


You Fix a Man, He Flies Away

by Suzelle



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/pseuds/Suzelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivorwen heals Aragorn after his first injury with the Grey Company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Fix a Man, He Flies Away

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a birthday fic for Cairistiona in January 2013. I've put in a few minor edits since then, but it remains largely the same.

Whether it was foresight or honed instinct, Ivorwen couldn’t say, but the dread that she had been feeling for days was given validity the moment the Grey Company returned. She rushed outside to meet them, only to find Aragorn collapsed against Halbarad, ashen-faced and barely conscious.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice clipped and steady.

“Orc ambush on our way out,” Halbarad replied grimly. “He took an arrow to the side.”

“This happened on your way  _out?_ ” Dirhael thundered. “Then how the devil did it take you so long to return?”

“I tried to get him to turn back right away, but he insisted on stopping to help a farmer that we’d passed rebuild what the orcs had destroyed,” Halbarad said. “It wasn’t until today that he nearly fell off his horse....turns out he’s remarkably good at hiding how injured he truly is.”

“Yes, I can’t imagine where he gets that trait from…”

“Well, nothing to be done about it now,” Ivorwen cut in, pausing only long enough to shoot Halbarad the look she knew struck fear into the hearts of all her grandchildren. “Let’s get him inside.”

***

Infection had started to set in, as Ivorwen feared, but as arrow wounds went it was still hardly the worst she had tended. He’d fallen into a fitful sleep long before she finished, and she sat beside the bed long after her work was done. It was well into the night before she heard a knock on the door. Dirhael poked his head in tentatively. He knew better than anyone Ivorwen’s reaction to those who disturbed her during a healing.

“Yes, come in,” she sighed, gesturing for him to enter. “The danger’s passed, for now.”

Dirhael approached, carrying a plate of bread and a steaming cup of tea for his wife.

“How is he?” he asked.

“He’ll live,” Ivorwen said grimly. “‘It will take him some time to recover, but nothing too damaging."

He nodded, setting the plate down on a stool beside her.

“Are you all right, Ivorwen?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Dirhael,” she replied shortly.

“Ivorwen—” he paused. “We knew he wouldn’t remain unscathed in the Wild forever, this happens to them all—”

“I know, Dirhael,” she snapped and paced to the other side of the room. “You needn’t coddle me. I’m not a child who needs the blow softened, I know what he faces out there...”

“Whoever said I was coddling you!” Dirhael laughed roughly. “I know better than to try.”

Ivorwen shook her head and turned to stare out the window.

“I’ve healed dozens of our men come back from the Wild,” she said, “By the Valar, I’ve brought  _you_  back from the edge of death more times than I can count. It's a dangerous life they lead, I’ve known it all my life. This was bound to happen before long…”

Dirhael came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She leaned back against him, more grateful than she’d ever admit for his presence.

“This time it’s harder, though,” he said at last, “It's different with him.”

“Aye,” she sighed, looking back down at Aragorn. “That it is.”

It was selfish, she knew, to want to keep this one close to her, to wish no harm would ever come to him. She hadn’t watched him grow the way she had the rest, would have fewer memories to draw upon should the worst happen.  And it was more than that, still—she knew better than most what the loss of Aragorn would mean to her people. She knew these thoughts could never be voiced aloud, knew his position as heir couldn’t keep her from treating his injuries any differently than her other kinsmen. And yet…

“He has barely a scar on him, Dirhael,” she said sadly. “And this is like to be the first of dozens, with us.”

“I know,” he replied simply.  She shook her head.

“A hard life it will be, to carry all our hopes,” she murmured, “and we cannot be there every time to ease his pain.”

“No,” he said, “but I’m grateful just the same that you were there today. And you know he will be as well, when he awakes.”

“Small blessings, at least,” she gave a sad smile. “I suppose that’s all we really live on.”

“Not much more we can ask for,” he agreed, “though, if we’re to talk of someone who needs small blessings, I would advise you to go see Halbarad tomorrow. I think he’s terrified of the weight of your wrath.”

“Let him feel it for a few more days,” she chuckled, “he has to learn when to disobey his Chieftain as well as obey. If I can help drive the lesson in a bit more sharply, so be it.”

Dirhael shuddered. “In some ways I’m glad I’m not out in the field with them anymore.”

“So am I, my dear,” Ivorwen kissed him warmly, “So am I.”


End file.
